


A Phantom Embrace

by BootsnBlossoms



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Developing Relationship, Episode: s03e13 Anchors, Fix-it fic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/pseuds/BootsnBlossoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, Stiles’ scream was just as much rage and frustration as fear. He thrashed, tearing his arms away from Derek’s too-familiar grip, knocking some of the many photos and papers he had tacked to the wall down to his trashed covers. He kicked and screamed and shoved, twisting in the sheets and keeping his eyes closed against this particular torment. It wasn’t the first time he’d ‘woken’ to his deepest wish of being in bed with someone he wanted desperately, wrapped in their arms, only to have them vanish when the darkness swallowed him again. This wasn’t even the first time he’d woken to Derek’s phantom embrace. He just couldn’t take it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Phantom Embrace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badwolfbadwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/gifts).



> Yay! Teen Wolf is back! And with it, of course, came the Sterek feels:D The opening sequence was heart-breaking, and it made us love the Sheriff even more. But then badwolfwolff just _had_ to ask - what if it were Derek that gave him hugs instead? So this happened :D Enjoy!

Stiles woke up screaming, flailing so hard that when his wrist hit the wall he could have sworn he heard a bone crack. In a typical nightmare scenario, he would have welcomed the horrible sensation of the break — it was an old adage that pain would wake you from a dream — but there was nothing normal about these dreams. Pain didn’t work to wake him. Sensation of any sort didn’t work to wake him. Only the screaming did. And even then, sometimes, it could take a few tries. 

Clearly, this was one of those times, because instead of just his Dad trying to shake him awake, soothe him with a hug, it was Derek.

Derek, who wasn’t in Beacon Hills any more.

This time, Stiles’ scream was just as much rage and frustration as fear. He thrashed, tearing his arms away from Derek’s too-familiar grip, knocking some of the many photos and papers he had tacked to the wall down to his trashed covers. He kicked and screamed and shoved, twisting in the sheets and keeping his eyes closed against this particular torment. It wasn’t the first time he’d ‘woken’ to his deepest wish of being in bed with someone he wanted desperately, wrapped in their arms, only to have them vanish when the darkness swallowed him again. This wasn’t even the first time he’d woken to Derek’s phantom embrace. He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stiles!” dream-Derek shouted in frustration. “Stiles, stop! You’re fine!” He gripped at Stiles’ shoulders and gave him a shake. 

“Not this!” Stiles shouted, refusing to open his eyes. But as tightly as he held them shut, it couldn’t stop the flow of tears. “This is torture! Not this!” 

“Stiles,” Derek breathed out, hands gentling their grip. Stiles used the opportunity to throw himself backwards, head cracking hard against the headboard. A warm hand massaged the back of Stiles’ head where it had hit the unforgiving wood, and a thumb brushed the hard ridge of his cheekbone under his eye.

“You left,” Stiles heaved out, shaking his head in an effort to dislodge the specter of werewolf-hot touches. “You left me. You’re not here.”

“I’m here,” Derek soothed, the pressure from his hands moving slowly over Stiles’ head painful in their familiarity. Stiles shook his head again. “I’m sorry I left. But I’m here now.”

It was too much; it hurt far more than the ache in his wrist did, to hear Derek’s voice in the low, soft pitch he reserved for when he and Stiles were alone. “That’s I how I know it’s not you,” he said with a wrecked chuckle that was anything but humorous. “You, apologizing. That doesn’t happen.”

There was a sigh and Stiles felt the bed shift as Derek settled in front of him. The hands moved from Stiles’ face and head to his thighs, thumbs pressing through the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms nearly hard enough to bruise. “I needed time,” Derek said.

“Well, fuck you!” Stiles spat back, curling in on himself. “I needed sanity. Heads up Derek, werewolves aren’t the only ones who need anchors sometimes. But I guess we don’t always get what we need.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said again, hands firm in their place on Stiles’ body.

“Stop it,” Stiles whispered, unwilling to hear the words even if he knew it was a dream. The force of his want, his _need_ for Derek was painful enough when he was awake; here, on the edge of insanity, it threatened to drag him not just into darkness, but despair. He ran his hands through his hair, yanking hard, before covering his ears. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop  it. You’re not real. I need to wake up now.”

“Open your eyes, Stiles,” Derek prompted, and Stiles sobbed at the fact that in his dream, hands over his ears did nothing to block sound. “You _are_ awake, I swear.”

“Why would _you_ be here then, huh?” Stiles asked both meanly and desperately. “You were done with me even before you left.” A white-hot flame of hurt flared deep inside Stiles at the memory of Derek just… drifting away from him when Jennifer Blake entered their lives. Stiles finally opened his eyes, knowing that seeing even dream-Derek’s face would cut off the rambling. 

Sure enough, Stiles found himself frozen under the look that greeted him. Derek’s eyes glowed faintly blue with his distress, his features twisted in fear and sadness. “That’s not what happened, Stiles.”

“Shut up, I was there.” Stiles brought a hand up to scrub at his eyes, exhausted and trembling with the aftereffects of his body being flooded with adrenaline. Derek’s hands tightened on his legs, then slid down until he was gripping Stiles’ waist. He tugged him forward, straightening one of Stiles’ legs before pulling up the other one so Stiles’ knee rested against Derek’s ribs. 

“Yes you were. Which is why I know you’re fully aware of her first three sacrifices,” Derek said calmly as he wrestled Stiles into position. 

 _Virgins_ , Stiles thought. _Heather_. 

Derek mirrored what he was doing to Stiles until they were tangled together, and Stiles didn’t have the strength, physical or mental, to push him away. 

“You’re saying she used the magic of those sacrifices to seduce you.”

“Yes.”

“Convenient,” Stiles huffed, shaking his head. “I think it’s just clear that I’m not your type. Not a woman, not psychotic —”

Derek lifted a hand to press two fingers to Stiles’ lips, warning in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “From what I’ve heard, you’re getting close to the second part.”

Despite himself, Stiles chuckled. The little bit of humor finally cracked his armor, spearing him to the core with the force of how much he’d missed this. And knowing how much it was going to hurt, knowing how hard it was going to be when he woke up, Stiles finally gave in. He all but collapsed against Derek, sliding forward enough so they were pressed chest to chest, Stiles’ nose tucked into the hot crook of where Derek’s shoulder met his neck. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s strong back and shuddered with relief.

“Too long,” Stiles whispered through his tears. “It’s been too long since I could have this. And knowing I don’t get to keep it…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. When I wake up, after the demons have come for you and torn you apart, it’s going to hurt all over again.” 

“That won’t happen, Stiles,” Derek said, pulling Stiles impossibly closer as he returned the embrace. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Stiles lost track of time, letting himself sink into Derek’s embrace, letting himself feel the warmth and heat and affection for however long his messed-up mind would let him. Then Derek pulled back and Stiles felt his own breath catch in panic.

“It’s okay,” Derek reassured him, rubbing his arms gently. “I’m not leaving. But we need to do something about this.” He reached down and lifted Stiles’ hand from where it had fallen onto Derek’s leg.

“Ow,” Stiles said in surprised as his broken wrist was jostled. “I forgot all about that.”

With an unimpressed grunt, Derek cradled Stiles’ wrist with one hand, then laid his other hand on top. Stiles sighed in relief as the pain left him, Derek’s black veins stark even in the dimness of his room. 

“Does he need to go to hospital?” a voice asked from Stiles’ doorway. He looked up in shock to see his father, sleep rumpled and face creased with concern. 

“It’s not a dream,” Stiles realized with sudden clarity. “You’re never in my dreams,” he accused, narrowing his eyes at his dad.

“Yes, he needs to get this checked out,” Derek said with a shrug.

“I don’t want to leave,” Stiles objected, sudden fear spiking through him. Right now, in this moment, he was safe. He was all right. He felt that if they tried to cross the doorway, however, it would all be shattered just as it had been a dozen times before. “Let’s just stay here for tonight. Until the sun comes up. Please.”

Derek frowned and shook his head. “This needs to be set.”

“Derek —”

Derek cut him off with a careful brush of his mouth against Stiles’, then by bringing their foreheads together. “I’m not going to vanish.”

“Looks like when you gave me the rundown on Beacon Hills’ supernatural problems, you left a few things out, eh son?” the Sheriff asked, his tone dangerous now.

“Nothing that would require a law enforcement official’s attention,” Stiles sighed. “I swear Dad.” And it was true. They had crashed into each other over and over again after stressful events, but it never went further than desperate clutching at each other that, hours later, would eventually melt into actual cuddling. They’d kissed too, of course, but even that was secondary to the pure relief of being held, of the physical affirmation that they were alive. Whole.

But he was too tired to explain that at the moment. 

“Just a few minutes, Sheriff,” Derek said, mercifully sensing Stiles’ exhaustion and fear and taking over. “We’ll be downstairs in a little while.”

Stiles held his breath, not sure if that would get Derek thrown out on his ass or merely politely asked to leave, at gunpoint. But apparently Stiles wasn’t the only one completely at a loss.

“All right,” his dad acquiesced, rubbing his temple. “All right. You have fifteen minutes. Then the hospital. Then you’re going to explain everything you left out the first time, Stiles.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, arms tightening around Stiles. 

Once the Sheriff was gone, shuffling down the stairs and muttering about not enough coffee in the world, Derek manipulated Stiles onto his side, wrapping up Stiles’ slimmer, only slightly smaller frame in his own. Stiles ached at the familiar feeling of being the little spoon, torn between enjoying it while he could and not allowing himself to feel anything out of pure self-preservation.

“You didn’t tell me,” Derek accused.

“You left me.”

“I would have come back. I _did_ come back.”

“And what in our most recent interactions would have led me to believe that, Derek?” Stiles couldn’t bring himself to be angry, so his voice betrayed him by coming out as simply _broken_. “You quit touching me when Jennifer showed up. You didn’t bother to tell me you were alive in favor of —” Stiles broke off for a moment and swallowed. “In favor of fucking _her_. Then everything with Deucalion… You let him walk, then you left, and I…”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said again, breathing the words almost silently against the back of Stiles’ skull.

“Stop saying that!” Stiles struggled in Derek’s embrace, overwhelmed by the desire to just get away. Dreaming or awake, there was only so much of this he could stand before it was too much.

“What do you want me to say?” Derek asked, tucking Stiles closer despite his struggles and protests.

“That you’re back and you’re not leaving again and you’ll help me figure this out.”

Derek sighed and nodded, his stubble rasping against Stiles’ neck. “I’m back,” he said quietly, leaning to kiss Stiles’ cheekbone. “I’m not leaving you again,” he added, kissing the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “And I’ll help you figure this out.”

When Derek kissed him this time, Stiles was ready. He turned, body pleasantly heavy from Derek’s heat and weight, and opened his mouth to draw Derek in a real kiss, the kind that made your heart speed up and your toes curl. Derek hummed into it, bringing one hand up to cradle Stiles’ face while the other tightened on his hip. Stiles let himself get lost in the kiss, threading his fingers through Derek’s short hair, body pressing up to seek all the contact it could get.

“Seven minutes!” the Sheriff called up the stairs, effectively breaking the moment.

Derek huffed out a laugh and pulled back, bright green eyes sparkling with humor and relief. “We should go.”

Stiles groaned in disagreement, but allowed Derek to pull away and then pull Stiles up from the bed. “It’s really not a dream?”

Derek took Stiles’ unbroken hand and tugged, pulling him across the threshold. Then he grinned as Stiles blinked in the hallway’s bright light.

“It’s really not a dream. Let’s go.”

Feeling something crack pleasantly inside him, Stiles nodded and let himself be led.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic previews, eye candy, prompt fills, and gpoy galore [on my Tumblr](http://bootsnblossoms.tumblr.com/).


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